


A Note That's Unplayed, Ink On A Page

by coffeejunkii



Series: In Heat [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Pregnancy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Phil Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil looks at Clint, a faint smile on his face. “I went to Medical today. I asked about the procedure to have the contraceptive implant removed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Note That's Unplayed, Ink On A Page

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Rurounihime for always making my writing better. <3
> 
> Title is from "Still" by Great Lake Swimmers.

The familiar jingle of Phil's keys drifts through the door as Clint heats up stew in the microwave. Phil's face pops around the corner a second later. He looks tired. “You hungry? I can heat some for you as well.”

“I'm good. Ate at the cafeteria.”

Clint wanders over and presses a brief kiss to Phil's lips, hand coming to rest on his side. “That's not real food.”

“It served its purpose.” He pulls away. “I'm going to change. Don't wait.”

Clint sits down on the couch and flicks on the TV. He's halfway through his stew when Phil settles next to him. He's quieter than usual. Probably just work on his mind; an op wrapped yesterday with a bunch of first-time field agents, some of whom got injured. 

When Clint sets aside his plate, Phil reaches for the remote. “Do you mind if I turn this off?”

Something's up. “No, go ahead.”

The TV goes dark. Phil looks at Clint, a faint smile on his face. “I went to Medical today.”

“Okay...” Clint wasn't aware that Phil didn't feel well, and why would that be anything to smile about?

“I asked about the procedure to have the contraceptive implant removed.”

It takes Clint's brain a second to catch up. “Does that—does that mean—”

Phil's smile widens. “Yeah. If that's okay with you.”

“More than. C'mere.” Clint pulls Phil into a tight hug. They've been talking about this for months, ever since they came back from Canada. Some of those talks were difficult. Clint tried not to push Phil on the issue, but also found it difficult to hide how much he wants a child with him. Clint did his share of soul-searching as well, trying to figure out if that desire was merely a result of Alpha instincts or something he truly wanted for them. He was happy with Phil, with their life. It wasn't like there was anything missing. Yet, even a few weeks after he was back on the Beta pheromones that mellow his Alpha instincts, he still longed for them to have a family. In the end, they agreed that Phil would decide when he's ready.

“Why today?” Clint asks.

Phil pulls away, but keeps his arms looped around Clint's shoulders. “Don't know. Just felt like the right time.”

Clint can't speak. He's been waiting for this moment; it seems unreal that it's here, finally. “What did they say?”

“It's an easy procedure. There's a waiting period in which my hormones will level out, and then, once I go into heat...” That smile is back on Phil's face.

“Are you sure about doing this?” Clint knows that Phil doesn't decide things on a whim. Certainly not something of this magnitude, but he has to hear Phil say it.

“Yes.” He holds Clint's gaze, then tips his head to the side, eyes downcast. It's just enough of a movement to let the bonding scar peek out from the edge of his T-shirt.

Clint cradles Phil's head in one hand and leans down, lips brushing over the scar. He tugs the T-shirt out of the way so he can mouth over the sensitive skin properly. Phil sighs. They don't do this too often, but when they do, it always brings back the moment when they bonded, that flash of irreversible connection.

Clint kisses up Phil's neck and jaw before meeting his lips. Phil's tongue slips into his mouth, and Clint is content to let go, let Phil take the lead, happy to float on the feeling of belonging.

**

Phil refuses to go home after he's had the implant removed. He insists that it was only a local anesthetic after all, that he has painkillers—which he actually takes—and that he can't take a whole day off during the week before the quarterly review of new recruits. In turn, Clint refuses to leave Phil's office. 

When Phil nearly nods off over his lunch, Clint ushers him onto the couch, inwardly cursing his stubbornness. He lets Phil sleep as much as he needs to, which ends up being three hours. Phil has the decency not to complain.

In bed that evening, Clint peels away the gauze near Phil's hip to take a look at the neat stitches over a small incision. “This is really happening.”

“It is.”

Clint glances up. “No regrets?”

Phil's eyes are full of warmth. “None.”

**

Clint first notices it when they're standing close together in their kitchen before dawn a week later, clutching coffee mugs and trying to wake up for their pre-mission briefing and subsequent flight to Shanghai. He smells coffee and Phil, the same as nearly every morning, but there's something about Phil's scent that is different. Clint leans closer. A whine escapes his throat; Phil's scent is fuller, somehow, stronger than before.

“Care to share?” Phil asks, amused.

“You smell good. Really good. Not that you don't always. You do. But it's more somehow.” Clint hopes Phil can make some sense of that.

Phil nods. “That's what happens when you go off the Beta pheromones.”

Clint figured Phil would notice, but he never realized it might be all that meaningful. It's still Clint's scent, after all, just a little tweaked. “Does it make that much of a difference?”

Phil takes a sip of coffee. “It does.” Before Clint has a chance to respond, Phil adds, “I've been meaning to ask. If—when I'm pregnant, would you stop taking the pheromones?”

That's a lot to ask at four in the morning. “Why?”

“Because...” Phil halts, studying his mug very intently. “Because I don't want the inevitable gossip about how and who and why. And maybe I like the idea of people knowing it's yours.”

Heat flashes through Clint. His instincts flare, possessiveness right at the forefront. He pushes it down. There are very few people who know about them, and that has been fine with both of them. For Phil to want to make this public is a big switch. It will change the way people look at them. At Clint. “I'll think about it.”

“That's all I can ask.” Phil drains the last of his coffee, then rinses his and Clint's mugs. “Time to go.”

Clint takes a deep breath and lets his mind slide into mission mode. They have time to sort this out later.

**

A few weeks after they get back from Shanghai, Clint curses when his phone vibrates while he's testing the new collapsible bow R&D made for him. He's surprised to see Phil's personal cell number on the display. Phil knows not to disturb Clint on the range. If this was an emergency, he'd call from his work number.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to come home.”

Clint sets the bow aside. “What happened? Why are you at home?”

“I'm going into heat and it's—” A stifled groan interrupts Phil. “It's coming on strong.”

_Shit_. “Okay, I'll be home as soon as I can.” There was no sign of an impending heat this morning. They would have noticed. It's only been six hours since then, and if the heat has progressed enough for Phil to need Clint, then this will be strongest heat cycle they've experienced.

“Thank you.”

Clint goes into op mindset so the concern about Phil won't slow him down. He collapses the bow. He needs to drop it off at R&D. He should also file emergency heat leave forms. It pains him to take any additional time away from getting to Phil, but he knows that as soon as he's through the door to their apartment, all thoughts not about taking care of his mate will be gone. 

Phil shouldn't even be going into heat yet. His hormones are still leveling out after the implant removal. Clint remembers Dr. Woodhall explaining the process would take two to three months, minimum. It's only been five weeks.

**

Phil is curled up on the couch when Clint makes it home an hour later. He's in loose sweatpants and a T-shirt, and the heat scent is coming off of him in waves. 

Clint drops his coat, toes off his shoes, and hurries over. “Hey, sorry it took me so long. How are you?” He kneels next to the couch. 

“Not too good.”

Clint runs a hand over Phil's hair down to his nape. “What do you need me to do?”

Phil presses his lips together. A shiver runs through him. “Just stay close.”

He can do that. “We should move to the bed.”

The suggestion of moving clearly doesn't appeal to Phil, but he pushes himself up. He pauses between sitting and standing, swaying a little when he's on his feet.

Clint steadies him. “Careful there.” Phil's breathing is very deliberate and there is a flush across his cheeks. “Are you in pain?”

“No. Not really. But—you know how I feel my skin is too tight before the heat really kicks in?”

Clint nods.

“It's like that, except worse than before.”

The words push Clint's instincts into high gear. “Let's get you into bed.” He wishes they had more than two shared heats to draw on for relieving Phil's discomfort. Hopefully, the few things that helped before will work now as well.

Clint helps Phil undress. Even though he shivers once he's naked, there's a reddish hue to his skin and he feels too warm. Clint gathers him close and Phil holds on tight. “It's too early for this. They said it'd be months.”

Phil manages a soft laugh. “Surprise.”

With a smile, Clint nuzzles Phil's neck. “C'mon.” He nudges Phil toward the bed. As Phil settles in, Clint strips off his clothes. He slides in next to Phil, pushing the comforter off the bed. “Do you want me close or are you too hot?”

“Close.”

Phil's on his side. Clint fits himself to his back, bringing an arm around Phil's waist. As his fingers trail slowly back and forth over Phil's chest, Phil exhales. “Better?”

“Yeah. A little. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” They usually take a nap at this stage, but Clint doubts either of them will sleep. It's the middle of the day, for one, and Phil seems too keyed up to drift off. “You think—” He isn't sure how to finish the sentence. If he should finish it.

“What?”

“You think that—I know they said a few months, but if you're going into heat now, does that mean that you'll—that you could—”

“Get pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

Phil shifts, leaning more of his weight against Clint. “I don't know. Maybe?”

It's so much earlier than they expected. There are still logistics to figure out with their jobs and they thought they'd have a year, at least, to handle those. “Okay.”

“Doesn't really matter. This heat's coming and I've been off the contraceptive for weeks. There's a definite chance.”

It sounds like a challenge. Like Phil's daring him to say that it's not the right time. Clint props himself up on an elbow and coaxes Phil to roll onto his back so they can look at each other. “I'll take that chance. I want this. No backing out.”

Phil's face brightens and he tugs Clint closer for a kiss. It's soft but demanding, and Clint's content to follow along. They'll manage. They're going to be okay.

**

They're not okay. The heat doesn't grant Phil any breaks. Before, they had a few hours between the peaks, but this time around, Clint is grateful when Phil will settle for minutes at a time before shivers wrack him again. Clint has tried everything he can think of—has stroked his back, has fucked him as slowly as both of them could stand to put off his knot—but none of it has eased the tension in Phil.

They're on their sides, tied together, and even though only a few minutes have passed since Clint's knot swelled, Phil is already pressing back against him, grinding his hips down. Clint grasps the top of his thigh to still the movements. “Can you—just a little longer, okay?”

Phil squirms. “Can't, please, I need...” He pushes Clint's hand toward his cock, which is half-hard.

“Yeah, I got you, shh, shhh.” Clint's fingers close and stroke upwards. He's so tired, wants to sleep, but not when Phil needs him. Phil's cock fills and thickens. Despite his exhaustion, a thrill goes through Clint knowing that Phil reacts because of him, because of his touch. He thumbs over the head until it's slick, then closes his palm over it. Broken moans fall from Phil's lips as Clint's calluses brush over the sensitive skin. 

Arousal thrums through Clint. His body tries to respond, but even with the heat pushing him beyond his usual limits, it's too soon. He's not going to come again. His hand and his knot will have to be enough for Phil. He presses deeper into him, knowing that Phil wants all the friction he can get. 

Phil reaches backward, pulling him in. “Like this. Don't stop.”

Clint rolls his hips and tightens his hand around Phil's cock. It won't take long. There have been times during this heat when Phil has come after two or three deep strokes.

“Almost,” Phil whispers in-between two harsh breaths.

Clint reaches for the upper edge of the mattress to provide some counterpoint to the force with which Phil presses back against him. Phil's hand on Clint's ass trembles, fingers digging in. Phil's back is one tense line of muscles.

It'll only take one little push to carry Phil over. Clint licks over the scarred bonding gland. It's not as sensitive anymore, but it still draws reactions out of Phil. It's only a quiet whine at first, but turns into gasps as Clint's tongue passes over it a few more times, and finally Phil shudders and comes. 

“There,” Clint murmurs, keeping light pressure on Phil's cock until he's done. Some of the tension leaves Phil. Clint kisses the top of his shoulder and runs a hand down his side. 

The knot loosens soon after. Phil turns toward him, nosing along Clint's jaw with closed eyes. “'m so tired.”

Clint brushes his fingers through Phil's sweat-slick hair. “I know, babe.” He's exhausted, too. They should try to eat something. Or at least get some liquids into their systems. The bed could do with a change of sheets, too. “I'm going to get us something to drink, okay?”

Phil makes a dissenting noise.

“Thirty seconds, tops, I promise.” He kisses Phil's forehead and rolls off the bed onto his feet. His first few steps are wobbly. 

Thank god for the protein shakes Clint bought on a whim a few days ago. He grabs three of them, two for Phil and one for himself. He finds Phil curled around a pillow.

Clint sets the shakes on the nightstand and kneels on the bed. He leans down to press a few kisses next to Phil's ear. “Can you sit up?”

Phil groans, but pushes himself upright. He blinks open his eyes. It takes a moment for them to come into focus.

“Here.” Clint hands him an uncapped bottle. 

Tremors make Phil's hand unsteady. Clint helps until he has a firmer grasp. Phil starts drinking in small sips. “You, too.” Phil pushes the bottle toward Clint.

Anticipating that Phil won't take no for an answer, Clint drinks. He's thirstier than he expected and could empty the bottle in three gulps. But he needs to get fluids into Phil first. “Your turn.”

They trade the shake back and forth until it's empty. Clint reaches for another bottle, but Phil shakes his head. 

“Just a little more, okay?” Clint shifts so Phil can lean against him. He runs his hand down Phil's back with firm strokes. Phil's breathing eases and he takes the shake. “That's good,” Clint encourages as Phil brings the bottle to his lips. “You're doing so well.”

Phil makes it halfway through before he returns the bottle to Clint. “I'll be sick if I drink more.”

“That's okay. There's more for later.” Clint finishes the shake and drops the empty bottle next to the bed.

Phil turns more fully toward Clint, dropping his head to his shoulder. “What time's it?”

“About seven in the morning.”

“Oh.”

“What time did you think it was?”

It takes a moment for Phil to answer. “Don't know. Didn't realize the night was over already.”

Clint can hear the worry in Phil's voice. Losing track of time is never a good sign. “I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you.” That's the only thing he cares about: getting Phil safely through this heat.

Phil slides his hand into Clint's and holds on with unexpected strength. “Thank you.”

**

When Phil sleeps, it's fitfully, and never for long stretches at a time. Clint is glad that they're getting some rest as they're moving deeper into the heat, but he worries about how shallow Phil's breathing remains even when he's asleep and how hot his skin feels. Clint wonders if Phil has a fever. He tries to remember if they own a thermometer and where it might be, but draws a blank. Searching for it would take too much time—Phil gets restless even in the short breaks Clint takes to get more drinks.

He should have thought about putting together a first-aid kit, but everything happened so fast. Drawing the back of his hand over Phil's forehead and cheeks, Clint tries to estimate if they need outside help. At least his phone is in reach. It doesn't seem as though Phil is burning up, however. 

The touch wakes Phil, and he curls closer, hooking one leg over Clint's thigh. “Hmm, need you,” he mumbles.

The brush of Phil's lips against his skin is enough to draw Clint's body back into the game. His cock jumps, and then Phil's hand is there, teasing over it. The heat calls up reserves that Clint didn't realize he had. 

He rolls Phil onto his back and kisses him, sloppy and uncoordinated. No matter how taxing this heat is, Clint still wants Phil. 

**

Phil will not stop squirming, pushing his hips up into Clint in fits and starts. Clint almost slips out of him. He grasps Phil's hip firmly with one splayed hand, pressing him down into the bed. It's impossible for Clint to get a rhythm going that works for both of them. “Work with me here,” Clint mutters, mostly to himself. Phil's eyes are squeezed shut. “Phil. Listen.” He lets some of his Alpha voice flow into the words.

Phil whimpers and bares his throat. It's a purely instinctual reaction. It throws Clint off; he doesn't like the idea that Phil is so deep into the heat that his instincts have entirely taken over. He stops moving. With a hand at the base of Phil's throat, his strokes a thumb up over his neck. “Hey,” he calls out softly. “Look at me?”

Phil shivers. It takes a moment, but his eyes open. His pupils are blown wide.

“You with me?” Clint asks.

Phil nods. “Heard you. Before. But it's hard.” His hips twitch.

Clint slides the hand on Phil's hip around to the small of his back. He presses his palm into Phil's skin, making sure their bodies are snugly fitted together. “Move with me.”

Phil's eyes slide closed again, but he seems more present. Clint thrusts into him slowly, using the hand on Phil's back to coax him along. The roll of Phil's hips is choppy, but it gets more even. When Phil's frustrated gasps turn into a moan, Clint kisses his cheek, smiling. “Like this, just like this.”

Phil's knees hitch higher around Clint's waist, making Clint's strokes go deeper. Pleasure sears through Clint, forcing a startled sob out of him. The last two times Clint knotted Phil, he only felt relief at having reached that point, but this reminds him of the joy of previous heats. He clings to it, uncertain whether he'll feel it again this time around.

**

Phil is spread out below Clint, his knees wide apart on the mattress, back bowed and arms a long line. Phil's fingers twist restlessly into the sheets as Clint fucks into him with forceful strokes. They started out with Phil on his back, but that wasn't enough. Phil begged Clint with a string of “more, please, more,” clawing at his back to bring him in closer until he pushed Clint off and rolled over onto his knees.

Phil's not begging anymore, but his whines suggest that this is still not exactly what he needs. Clint's thighs tremble and trails of sweat trickle down his back. He's trying, he really is, but he doesn't know what Phil needs, and he's going to come soon. He has to hold on, for Phil's sake, even if the heavy scent of heat in the room swirls around him, teasing him with the promise of knotting Phil. Of claiming him once again as his.

Clint stretches out across Phil's back, pushing his arm under Phil's and turning his hand palm up for Phil to grasp. He mouths along Phil's neck and down to the bonding scar. Phil's hips stutter and he loses his rhythm. 

“Let go,” Clint whispers. “Just let go.” The tension in Phil caused him struggle for release so much that it's made it more difficult for him to come. Clint tongues over the sensitive skin on the curve of his shoulder, all the while stroking into Phil deep and hard. A shiver runs through Phil and his head falls forward. “So good, just let it happen, c'mon.” Clint barely lifts his lips from Phil's skin. His Alpha senses sing with the display of trust from his mate, handing himself over in such a beautiful way.

He barely notices when his teeth close over the bonding scar, biting down. Phil keens and shudders. Clint bites harder until Phil groans and starts to come. The pressure on Clint's cock rips his orgasm out of him, fast and relentless. He sucks short breaths into his lungs as his hips twitch against Phil's ass. His knot swells, and Phil slumps sideways onto the bed, finally pliant. A wave of satisfaction and pride rushes through Clint and he nips at Phil's nape again, pleased when it makes Phil tremble. 

Clint buoys on that feeling, tongue sneaking out every once in a while to lick at Phil's neck. A rumble echoes through Phil's chest, easy to hear and feel since they're so close. For the first time during this heat, everything feels right. Having accepted Clint's knot, his mate is resting in his arms. Clint's hand drifts down Phil's front, pressing down low on his belly in a gentle circle.

Strong fingers grasp his wrist. “Don't. Too sensitive.”

Clint feels like he's been torn from a warm and safe place. Everything registers with more clarity. Phil is in his arms, and he's keeping still, but his breathing is labored. When Clint opens his eyes, he sees the teeth marks on Phil's shoulder, red and bruising already. Fear strikes through him. He shakes his hand out of Phil's hold, moves his arm until it rests on his own side. “Did I hurt you? Phil?”

“What?” Phil sounds confused.

“When I—fuck. When I bit you.”

“No. I barely noticed, and it feels—I feel better. Less like I want to tear my skin off.”

It's reassuring, but not enough. Clint felt his instincts push at him from the moment Phil got on his knees, and it seemed right to follow them, to revel in his mate's acceptance of him as the Alpha. Clint knows that he was rough with Phil, more so than usual. “And before? Before you came.” He can only whisper.

“You didn't. Listen to me—” There's purpose and clarity in Phil's voice. “You didn't hurt me. I would have told you. You did what I wanted you to do.”

Clint weighs those words, searching for uncertainty or incoherence. There is none. It's Phil, through and through. “Yeah, okay.” It still scares Clint that his instincts took over to such a degree. What if this happens again and he hurts Phil? He closes his eyes and lets himself be comforted by Phil's familiar scent. “Hope this is over soon.”

“Me, too.” Phil reaches back, tugging Clint's arm around him again. 

**

The heat ends, finally, and Clint doesn't even notice. He only remembers sliding into sleep sometime during the night and waking to afternoon light. 

Phil's right next to him, their arms and legs tangled under the down comforter. The rest of the room feels chilly. Clint vaguely remembers turning down the thermostat on one of his quick dashes to the kitchen. 

He runs a hand down Phil's side until he stirs. Clint feels bad about waking him up, but he wants to find out how he's doing. “Hey,” Clint whispers.

Phil hums in response. Clint gets it—his brain feels muzzy, too. “How're you feeling?”

Phil stretches, then slumps against Clint. “Tired. Sore. The usual.”

Clint scoots back to feel Phil's forehead. “D'you feel sick? I think you had a fever. Maybe still have. You feel warm.” There are also dark circles under his eyes.

“You're like an oven.”

That draws a smile from Clint. Phil always complains about being too hot because of Clint, yet also always wants to be close to him when they share a bed. He decides that even if Phil still has a very low fever, it'll run its course. They'll probably fall asleep again in a little while anyway. But they should eat first. And take a shower. 

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Clint's relieved to hear that. They've both lost a lot of energy in the past two days. “How's this: shower, sandwiches, fresh sheets, then more sleep?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Phil nuzzles Clint's neck. It's such a sweet, instinctual gesture that calls forth a surge of love and protectiveness. It's one of those things that Phil only does when he's extremely tired and most of his rational thought is pushed to the far corners of his brain. It's also a reminder that while the heat might be over, they still need each other in ways they usually don't. Clint doubts that they'll be ready for work tomorrow.

With a grunt, Phil sits up and shuffles toward the edge of the bed. He pauses, clearly gathering the energy to stand up. There's a purple-blue bruise at his nape where Clint bit him and others along his hips. The sheets cover Phil's thighs, but Clint imagines there are more there, too. He has a distinct memory of digging his thumbs into the muscles there. “I'm sorry.” The words slip out before Clint has finished thinking them.

Phil looks back over his shoulder. “For?”

Clint sits up and rests a hand against Phil's back. “The bruises. You'll see.”

“You marked me?” There's a trace of wonder in Phil's voice.

“Marked?”

“Yeah. I believe that's what it's called. It happens during heats. I read about it.” Phil sounds calm, not upset at all.

“But—” It doesn't sit well with Clint that he touched Phil hard enough to leave marks.

Phil turns to look at him. “It's fine. It may not always seem that way, but I know what's happening between us during the heat. If you were hurting me, I'd tell you. I promise.”

Clint wonders if it makes him a shitty Alpha that he doesn't find that reassuring. He should probably feel a possessive pride at having marked Phil, but it makes him feel uneasy. He can't even look at Phil, who shifts closer. Clint leans into his warmth. 

“It's fine,” Phil repeats. “Will you take a bath with me? I don't think I'm up for a shower.”

It's an invitation to take care of him, and Clint thinks that's exactly what he needs. “'course, yeah.” 

**

While the water runs into the tub, they change the sheets. It's slow-going because they're both exhausted. Even this small chore is hard on Phil. Clint is tempted to tell him to sit and let Clint finish by himself, but he knows from experience that Phil won't have any of that. Shared responsibilities and all that. 

Once they're in the bath, however, Phil lets Clint take the lead. Washing the last two days off his skin feels wonderful, and Phil makes contented noises when Clint rubs a washcloth over his back and arms. They remain in the hot water for a while longer, only getting out when Phil is close to dozing off.

Clint dries himself off quickly. Phil doesn't resist when Clint takes the towel from his hands. It pleases Clint. At the same time, he realizes that his protective instincts are in overdrive. He isn't sure what he'd do if anyone tried to get between him and Phil right now, and he hopes he won't ever find out. As he gently drags the towel over Phil, he catalogues all the bruises Phil took away from the heat.

Clint sets the towel aside. “Hold on.” He opens the medicine cabinet and reaches for the salve they keep on the top shelf.

Phil nods at him. 

Clint starts at his nape, slick fingers carefully sliding over the bruise there. Phil shivers and Clint stops.

“Feels good. Go on.” Phil braces himself on the sink. His head drops forward as Clint continues.

Encouraged, Clint eases his fingers down Phil's shoulder to his wrist. He moves on to his hips, using his palm to spread the salve. Phil's thighs are last. Clint knows his hands linger longer than necessary, but Phil doesn't protest. 

“What about...” He settles his hand on the curve of Phil's ass. “I can—or if you'd rather not, I can leave the salve and...” He feels strangely nervous asking about this.

“You do it.” Phil bends over farther and widens his stance. 

“Okay.”

Clint dips his fingers into the salve again. When he spreads Phil's cheeks, he can see why Phil feels sore. He fights down the feelings of unease—there are aches all over his body, too, and he wouldn't ever put the blame for those on Phil. Even a perfect heat takes a toll, and this one was far from perfect. 

Phil hisses when Clint swipes salve over his hole. Clint freezes. “Don't stop,” Phil whispers. “It'll be fine.”

Using only the pads of his fingers, Clint rubs in small circles. He tries to be quick but thorough. His heart beats fast the whole time, almost tripping over itself. Clint doesn't entirely grasp why this feels like crossing a line. He's had his tongue in Phil's ass before, so this really shouldn't feel overwhelming. And yet it does. “Yeah?” he asks when he's done.

“That's good. Thank you.” Phil straightens. His cock has just begun to harden, pulling slightly away from his body. He waves it off. “I don't think there's any way I wouldn't react to you touching me like that.”

Clint drags his eyes to Phil's face. “Right.” He swallows. There's something wedged into his throat that makes talking difficult. “I—I'll get some food if you wanna lie down.”

Phil shuffles out of the bathroom as Clint washes his hands. He is picking pajama pants from the drawer when Clint joins him in the bedroom. “Want some, too?”

“The gray striped ones.” Clint closes the window he'd opened earlier to air out the room. He takes the pants and a T-shirt from Phil. “D'you want me to call for takeout?”

“No. I just want something simple.” He finishes dressing and climbs into bed. He lets out a barely audible sigh when he draws the comforter over himself.

Clint can't help stepping closer. He runs a hand over Phil's hair, relieved to discover that his skin doesn't feel overly warm any longer. “We have Advil if you want it.”

Phil hesitates. “Maybe.” His eyes close.

In Phil-speak, that's a yes. Clint will probably take one or two himself. “Alright. If you fall asleep before I get back, do you want me to let you sleep?”

“Wake me.”

“'Kay.”

Once he's in the kitchen, Clint stares at the cabinets. Simple. Right. 

He ends up going for the simplest thing he can think of. 

Phil is curled up under the covers when Clint sits down on the edge of the bed, balancing a plate, a glass of milk, and a bottle of Advil. “Hey. I have food.”

Phil stretches and sits up. A smile crinkles his eyes. “PB and J?”

Clint pushes the plate toward him with a shrug. “Comfort food.”

“It's perfect. Thanks. Is that for me, too?” Phil nods at the milk.

“Yeah.” He drops the Advil on the comforter.

Phil nearly empties the glass before picking up one of the sandwich wedges. Clint grabs one as well. They eat in comfortable silence. Phil takes two Advil, then helps himself to more food.

“You're good at that, you know,” Phil says half-way through the last sandwich. “Taking care of people. Of me.”

Clint ducks his head. 

“I know you worry sometimes.”

The warmth in Phil's voice makes Clint's cheeks heat. “I try.”

“You do more than try.”

It's good to hear. Clint wonders if Phil realized that he feels uneasy about how the heat has gone or if it's just something that popped into Phil's mind. Either way, it's reassuring.

Clint picks up the empty plate and glass to set them down on the dresser. He gets into bed, lifting an arm when Phil leans into his side. Clint turns toward him until they're comfortably entangled. It takes only a few minutes until Phil's breathing evens out, but Clint isn't sleepy. Careful not to dislodge Phil, he reaches for his phone and opens the browser.

A quick search reveals that the earliest time they can test for a pregnancy is a week after the conclusion of a heat. That seems both too long and not long enough. 

**

They stay home for another two days, then head back to work. Things are normal enough—Clint goes back to fine-tuning his new bow with R&D and Phil continues to plan the op they're scheduled to leave for in five days—but there's a tense undercurrent. They're both waiting. Clint sticks a little closer to Phil because there's a jittery anxiety around him. Phil certainly notices, but doesn't comment on it.

Clint is filling out pre-mission paperwork, trying to remember if it's form 23.4-A or 24.3-A to requisition an upgrade on field rations when he notices that Phil has stopped typing. The steady clack-clack tends to stop only when Phil is on the phone or sorting files, neither of which he's doing at the moment. 

Clint squints over the edge of the couch to see Phil staring off into space. “Everything okay?”

Phil slowly turns. “Yeah. Just—” He sighs and looks down at this screen. “Actually...” He rubs a hand over his eyes. 

Clint sits up. “Actually, what?”

Phil looks miserable when he catches Clint's eyes. He stands, walks over to lock the door, and sits down next to Clint. He props up his arms on his thighs, dropping his head into his hands.

Clint moves closer. “What is it?” He runs a hand over Phil's back. Phil took off his jacket a while ago; the cotton of his shirt is smooth under Clint's palm.

“Tomorrow...” He drops his hands, briefly glancing at Clint. “Tomorrow's the first day I can take a test to—”

“Yeah, I know. Are you worried?”

Phil's lips press together. “Not for the reasons you might think.”

Clint doesn't follow. “Why, then?”

Phil's next words come out as a whisper. “I don't want to be pregnant.”

Clint's taken aback, but senses there's more of an explanation. They had talked about this decision at length; they were sure. Yet, Clint can understand the difference between imagining a situation and being in it. It took Phil a while to come around to the idea. It hurt to think that he might not be ready to do this after all, but that was his decision, in the end. And this heat—it's not how Clint imagined they'd conceive their child. Far from it.

“I'm sorry.” Phil's voice cracks. “I know you really want this, but—”

“Hey, no, don't.” Clint draws Phil closer. “This isn't all about me.”

Phil pushes his face into Clint's neck. “The heat we had, I don't want...I know this is illogical, but I don't want a child coming from that.”

“It's not illogical.” He brings his other arm around Phil. “I've thought about that, too.”

“You have?”

Clint hums in affirmation.

“It's all I've thought about the past few days.”

That would explain Phil's jumpiness. “Why didn't you say anything?” They're not the best at communication, still, but they have come to the point where they do share the things that really weigh on their minds.

Phil straightens. “It means so much to you.”

Clint takes his hand. “Did you think I was going to be mad at you?” Phil's gaze drops to their interlaced fingers. Concern wells up in Clint, making his voice waver. “I'm not. I wouldn't be. I—I need you to be honest, okay? Tell me if you don't really want to do this.”

Phil's head snaps up. “I do.” There's no hesitation, and he doesn't avert his eyes when Clint holds his gaze. “I want to. Just not like this.”

“And what if the test is positive?”

Phil squares his shoulders. “Then we'll make the best of it.”

**

The test turns out negative. Clint holds Phil for long minutes in a shadowy corner outside of Medical, for once uncaring at the stream of people passing by. It's all white noise to Clint, who is focused on the way Phil's hands are fisted into his T-shirt and the hiccupped breaths breaking against his shoulder. Clint closes his eyes and breathes in Phil's scent. It grounds him. 

Eventually, Phil pulls away and guides them to a quiet hallway. He doesn't say anything, but he takes both of Clint's hands and sways toward him, finally dropping his head to Clint's shoulder.

Clint nuzzles the shell of his ear. “Let's go home.” He wants to crawl into bed with Phil, drag the blankets over their heads, and shut the world out.

“Too much work.”

“Are you really going to be able to focus on work?” 

Phil doesn't respond.

Clint untangles one of his hands and rests it on Phil's nape. “Exactly. Besides, it's after three already. Workday's basically over.”

Phil's laugh is muffled by Clint's shirt. “You're a terrible influence.”

“No,” Clint says quietly. “'m just taking care of you.”

The kiss startles Clint. They're not this openly affectionate at HQ—maybe, on occasion, in Phil's office, but never in a hallway, deserted as it is. He kisses back, light and sweet, until Phil breaks them apart.

“Alright,” Phil says, keeping a hold of Clint's hand as he starts walking. “Let's go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Actual baby-making next time, I promise.


End file.
